


In Search of the Answers to Questions Unknown

by Sweaters (Guhs)



Series: Pale Danvivor [10]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Cute, Domestic Fluff, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Other, Protective, Protectiveness, That's a Lotta Fluff, They're a Whole Damn Family Unit, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, clueless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 05:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guhs/pseuds/Sweaters
Summary: Nate and Danse decide what to do with their wayward child.





	In Search of the Answers to Questions Unknown

“Whoa, now. What the fuck is _that_ , boss?”

Nate never thought he’d see the day that his own security team wouldn’t let him into his own neighborhood because of a baby. A _baby_.

“Am I to understand that NONE of you have ever seen an infant? Are wastelanders dropped off fully-formed by storks or some shit?”

“They might as well be, boss. Can’t tell you the last time I saw a baby born alive, let alone one that big that’s still healthy. Overpopulation ain’t exactly a risk around here, y’know? Where’d it come from?”

“Group of raiders, they had her in an old egg crate. Best guess is she either belonged to one of them, or she was stolen and they planned on trafficking or raising her as one of her own. Either way...”

“Right… uh. Just be careful, I guess. You never know what them stray kids are hiding.”

“ _Finally_ , someone understan--” _Thump._ **_Cough_** _._

“ _Danse_.” Some faint muttering. “If you start hearing some beeping, feel free to shoot us down.”

Had he known the arrival of this kid would be such a big to-do, Nate might’ve radioed ahead and let everyone know; at least then, the shock would’ve worn off a little bit.

The reception could have been worse, granted. Not everyone had the same distrust and hatred of small children that Danse did whenever he remembered to keep pretending that he hadn’t been won over.

Some of their settlers came over to inspect; many had also never seen a baby live in person, or they hadn’t seen one since their own losses and wanted to reminisce. Others were just mystified. Some didn’t care or just kept their distance entirely. It was all the same to Nate, who just wanted to _get home_ already, goddammit.

The fuss died down within a few days. Feelers were put out both over their own broadcasting tower and through DCR to find out if anybody had recently lost a baby girl, and after nearly a month, nobody had stepped forward to claim their nameless infant. All those who came sniffing around for a cash reward to help find her ‘owner’ were all dealt with in short order.

Before much longer, it seemed their fears were, in fact, reality: this kid was an orphan, and now they were all she had left.

Danse, despite his intense distrust of the child and his mantra that ‘all children were a liability unless they could fight’, was always the first to come to the kid’s aid if she so much as sniffled, or if they were relaxing and she even _looked_ like she might roll off the side of the furniture. Which… was starting to be much more of a risk now that she was growing, granted. She was already beyond what Nate had personal experience with, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him from tapping into his wealth of baby book smarts from over two-hundred years ago that definitely were not read by flashlight at half-past midnight while Nora was asleep. It was all definitely, _totally_ 100% fresh in his mind.

Which is why it took him nearly a week to remember that kids that age still needed to be burped, obviously. Nasty shock for him when he discovered that they also still mercilessly vomit on any unsuspecting adult unfortunate enough to let their guard down while doing so.

It was a particularly warm morning when Nate pried himself out of bed early and finally got around to giving the kid a bath more useful than a quick rinse-and-pat. He turned the garage radio up, switched to Diamond City Radio, filled up the kitchen sink with some warm water and went to it.

The security door slid open a while after, then the front door, and in waltzed none other than Paladin Danse himself. “I’m ba- _Nathan, how deep is that water?_ ”

The tin man was by Nate’s side in the blink of an eye, smelling like river water and more than a little fussy. God, the man could’ve given Nathan’s mother a run for her money. _If only she could be here today_. She’d practically be buzzing with pride. Hold an unofficial adoption herself.

“It’s shallow enough, don’t worry-”

“You have to support her head. Those pre-war sinks are slippery, Nate, she could lose traction, slide under and _drown_.”

“I think you’re forgetting I had a son once, Paladin. Younger than this, too.”

“Right, just…” The man looked like he was about to burst from the stress of watching the perfectly safe, perfectly happy baby splash erratically in the less-than-half-full sink of water.

“ _Be careful_ , uh-huh. I know, big guy. Listen, why don’t you go grab a towel out of the bathroom? I forgot it-”

“ _Nathan_ -”

“Can it. If you keep this up I’m sending you to bed without dinner.”

“It’s barely ten in the mor-”

“Hop to it, soldier.”

Heavy footsteps barely drowned out the grumbling protests, but Danse was gone and back in less time than it took Nate to start draining the sink. There he stood, towel spread out, ready to catch the infant in the event she happened to literally shoot out of the sink like he seemed to fear would happen any moment. Nate carefully handed her over with a snort, and a mocking little “ _Don’t drop the baby, Danse._ ” Well-received, as always.

Nate got to work quickly drying her head, face and neck, and Danse worked to dry everything else. Before long, they had a perfectly(ish) dry baby with a frizzy mess of peach fuzz up top.

Danse had gotten a bit better about holding her when people were looking. No more arms-length, no more uncomfortable expressions - mostly - and no more standing there looking terrified. Now, he generally just looked hypervigilant and held the kid with an iron grip. God _forbid_ he ever catch Nate holding her with only one arm or giving her to one of the other survivors for any amount of time without constant supervision.

Standing there by the window, taking in some much-needed sun scorch, the Paladin gently rocked the towel-clad baby close to his chest, watching her curious eyes and searching hands with a kind of reverence Nate had only seen in relation to good conduct in a firefight. She and Danse seemed to mostly mutually agree that she would stop pulling his beard so long as he stopped holding her like an old explosive, so they were on pretty good terms lately.

It was really kind of… heartwarming.

The stale smell of river water wafted into Nate’s nose from the outside breeze really put a cork in that good mood.

“Danse. Why do you smell like a swamp?”

“Hm- oh. The purifier shut down sometime during the night; Sturgess needed help figuring out the problem.”

“And what was the problem?”

“Molerat corpse in the intake pump.”

“Right. For how long?”

“Probably a while.”

“Lovely.”

They sat in the following silence for a while, watching the kid try to wiggle her way out of Danse’s arms, to no avail; kids were puny and weak, thankfully. Easy to control until suddenly they weren’t. Someday this little kid, just strong enough to lift her head up for long periods of time and start the process of rolling over on her own, would be walking. Then talking. Then running, climbing, and then someday she’d have to learn how to shoot, how to fight, what to do during a bad radstorm or how to self-administer stimpaks and RadAway, when and when not to use Med-X. Someday she’d be an adult trying to survive in an unforgiving wasteland, same as everybody else.

Nate couldn’t imagine letting her go through it an orphan.

“I think it’s about time we give her a name. What do you think?”

Danse blinked, finally snapping out of his self-induced trance. “Are you sure? What about-”

“I don’t think her family, if she ever had one, is still around now. Worst case scenario, we killed them the day we found her. I think we’ve treated her like a temporary guest long enough.”

“You don’t want to save the name for the people who adopt her?”

Nate thought about that, watching the girl they had tightly wrapped up in a towel, with those doe-like green eyes and the hair that might grow to be red, or maybe blond. Maybe something else entirely. The little smattering of freckles, the birthmark right behind her ear.

“I don’t know that I want anyone else to adopt her, Danse. We don’t know what could happen to her if we give her up, if she’ll get passed on to somebody else or sold or-- I don’t want to do that. I can’t wake up twenty years from now wondering where her life has taken her. Can you?”

 _Flash, bam, alakazam_. Danse’s thinking face, punctuated by that light crooning of Nat King Cole from the other room. Despite how protective he had been, it was understandable that the Paladin would have a difficult time settling on something like this. It was a major decision, a lifelong commitment, and it was - as he repeatedly reminded everybody - a major liability in the event they were to get attacked by anyone with enough brain cells to know what blackmail was.

All that in mind, Nate didn’t think even _Danse_ had it in himself to give something like this up so easily.

“Maybe not,” he decided, his crooked index finger lightly stroking the side of her cheek. “It’s just- a lot of responsibility. I know you’re not one to shy away from that, but, between the two of us, with Sanctuary and the Minutemen, the Brotherhood and the Institute... At times it feels like we’ve got the weight of the world on our shoulders.”

“Guess you could say we’re Atlas incarnate, huh?” Nate blinked, carefully brushed down what little bit of hair she already had. “Calypso.”

“What?”

“I think we should name her Calypso. Cal or Caly, maybe, for short. Are you familiar with Greek mythology?”

“Not very. What’s the relevance?”

“Calypso was one of the daughters of the Titan Atlas. Virtues aside, I’d… say that’s pretty fitting, wouldn’t you?” The two shared a glance then, lingering for a moment before they eventually found their way back to the squirming infant; he tried to hide it, but Danse’s smile was infectious.

“Calypso, huh? Sounds like a lot to live up to, but… I have a feeling she can handle it.” Something seemed to unlock in the Paladin’s mind, allowing his smile and words a little bit more feeling. A little less… monotone. Maybe now he’d finally be able to stop calling her ‘it’ every other time he referred to her.

But like many Danseisms, that would probably have to be worked out through a lot of introspection on his own time.

“Paladin Danse, did we just sign ourselves up to co-parent a child?” This seemed to startle the Paladin, but like most of his panic, he did a good job of subduing it.

“I, uh… I think we did, Nathan. I suppose now all we have to do is get married.” A burst of stilted laughter, followed by a brief expression of _pronounced_ panic, and a very harsh _ah-he-_ ** _hem_**. Nate could barely nip his snicker in the bud. “Anyway. Let’s- let’s get it- _her_ dressed. We’ll probably have to start looking for baby clothes when we’re out, and- oh, who’s going to watch her when we’re out? We can’t leave her here, and we can’t take her. Oh my _God_ -”

“Relax, Danse. It’s fine. Marcy and Jun have experience with a baby. Worst case scenario, we can drop her off with Piper for a while. I’m sure Nat’d have a blast. If you think _this_ is stressful, wait for the next eighteen years.”

The reassuring pat on Danse’s shoulder seemed to do absolutely nothing; Nate had never seen a grown man blanch so quickly. Nonetheless, he trekked on back to the nursery, quietly mumbling something to Calypso about “Eighteen years? _Eighteen…_ **_years_** _._ ”

_And so it begins._

**Author's Note:**

> I dun did it. It's 4 am and I finally dun diddly did it. The kid's a permanent fixture, and she has a nAmE. I almost named her something really boring, almost named her after Nora or Nate's mom but uh. That's borin', ya feel? This kid's gonna grow up with a strong-ass name (and hopefully never find any history books detailing what Calypso was all about because haha y'all wanna talk about bad influences?)  
> I played around with a lot of historical/mythological and a couple of space-related names for a while, and Atlas was really sticking to me but it never sat right, I couldn't really justify it. Ambrose and others were also nice but... they, too, didn't work by themselves. And so here we are: Calypso... Ambrose? Ezra? Iono dude, I just work here.
> 
> I guess she's not gonna really have a surname for a while and that's fine. It's the wasteland, they're unnecessary. But that does bring me to another point: what the fuck should I call Danse? He can't just be 'Paladin Danse' or 'Ex-Paladin Danse' his entire screen life, right? I know he was briefly credited on the wiki as Saul Johnfield Danse, and it's... surprisingly fitting. I'm still thinking about it. Suggestions are very much appreciated, because, while I will probably still always call him Danse, full name references are still very nice; Nate is the scolding mother sort of man.
> 
> Anyway. It's 4 am and I have work in approximately 5 hours and some spare minutes so I better go remedy this very poor decision while I still have the chance.
> 
> Big shoutout to my main ski HowRis as always -- and at this point, ilovemiax bc damn you're also very supportive and I never recognized how much I appreciated it before. Y'all are the greatest.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, but if you didn't, hey, plenty of fics in the sea. ;)
> 
> Also, the title quote is most definitely from John Denver's "Calypso". Don't judge me; he's a damn good dead singer and I'm an old man.


End file.
